Being John Cusack
by singingstarryknights
Summary: Greg comes home to the realization that his baby is all grown up. Number 30 in the Ducks in a Row Series.


Being John Cusack

Greg comes home to the realization that his baby is all grown up.

Number 30 in the Ducks in a Row Series.

Jack Cooper pulled up against the curb just outside Number 27, Harris Street, throwing the beat up old truck in to park, and frowning at the house, his attention caught by the soft light pouring leisurely out of a window of Nora's studio room on the second floor. He had screwed up, badly. In the heat of an argument, he had called off their relationship, a week or so before she left for Chicago last fall. He loved her deeply, loved her still, but he had been worried, scared even, about Nora going so far away, leaving him here in Vegas. Sure there were gigs in Chicago, but he had a good thing going here, and he hadn't wanted to move.

Once you got a foot in the door, you hardly stepped back out on to the porch.

He sat back against the worn fabric of the seat, desperately trying to gather the confidence to follow through with his plan. It had been ten long months since he had seen her, talked to her, heard her laugh, and it had worn him down. He had quit the Beatles tribute band, and the Ricky Ricardo big band back up for a handful of past-their-prime Hollywood personalities, unable to carry on playing anything written in a major chord, anything with lyrics about the happily ever after endings of well-fabricated love stories. He had brushed up on his jazz form, playing routinely with Jake Norton, and a handful of other small time trios. Jack had started to play the blues to ease his broken heart, the more it hurt, the more he played.

He took a long sip out of the to-go cup, slowly emitting steam out of the tiny opening, letting the bitter coffee wash over his tongue. A quick glance up the driveway ensured that Nora was home, and Mr. and Mrs. Sanders were not. Now or never. Jack reached over to the passenger seat, wrapping his fingers around the neck of his guitar, easing it out of the soft case. He slipped out of the truck, moving to the back, and rummaging around, plugging in the guitar to the small amp he had safely secured against the side of the truck bed. The old fat guy who lived at Number 29 waddled out his front door, making his way to the mailbox. Jack waved cordially at him, and after a few moments, Mr. Harper recognized the kid who was parked outside Greg and Sara's house.

"Haven't seen you 'round here for a while, Mr. Cooper." Jack smiled wearily at the Sanders' neighbor, hoping his casual call from the mailbox wasn't loud enough to bust his plan. "Greg know you're here?"

"No. I was hoping a little groveling without Mr. Sanders watching me like a hawk would help my case."

"Good luck." Mr. Harper pulled his mail out of his box, and began waddling back up his little driveway. "Greg usually gets home around seven."

"I remember." Jack watched Nora's neighbor make his way back into his house before taking a deep breath, climbing into the bed of the truck, and switching on the amp. He swung his legs over the side of the cab, sitting comfortably on the roof.

Now or never.

"_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_It's not warm when she's away_

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_She's gone much too long_

_Any time she goes away"_

Nora had fallen into a routine while in Chicago, working in the studio in the early hours of the morning, while the rest of the city slept. Coming home from school for the summer, she continued, waking up before the sun to absorb the relative silence, and let her mind wander. At school, she painted, but in Las Vegas, her first thought was of the tired old pottery wheel, where she sat presently, pulling absently at a chunk of clay that melted smoothly against her touch. She pushed a stray blonde lock out of her eyes with her forearm, dipping her fingers into the slip and pulling the edge of the clay out severely, widening what had started to look like a bowl.

"_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_Wonder if she's gone to stay_

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_And this house just ain't no home_

_Anytime she goes away"_

The muffled notes of a distant memory invaded her thoughts, but Nora only pushed in the lip of the bowl, creating a narrow neck on her now pear-shaped bowl vase thing. It wasn't until she heard his voice did she realize the music was outside her window, not in her head. She let up on the pedal, slowing the rotation of the wheel with a practiced ease. She picked up her mug of coffee, not bothering to wipe the remnants of the mix of water and clay from her hands. Her eyes watered instantly, as she spotted the familiar pick up truck beside the curb in front of her house. A quick glance at the clock told her that her parents would, if they had wrapped their cases, be home within the hour.

"_I know_

_She's gone to stay_

_It's breaking me up_

_Any time she goes away_

_Gotta leave the young thing alone_

_There ain't no sunshine when she's gone"_

She hadn't seen him, hadn't heard from him, in ten months. Hadn't talked to him since their blowout argument that killed their relationship eight days before she boarded the plane for Chicago last fall. She hung back, not fully coming up to the window, eluding him. He had cut his hair, the soft brown curls that had once fallen freely around his face were gone, cropped short, but still tossled in every which way, making him look older. By the look of the casual definition of his arms as he strummed at his beloved guitar, she knew he had been helping out his brother with the roofing jobs. She had heard a rumor that he was playing with Jake Norton and Grace Bartlett, not that it surprised her in the least. To say Jack Cooper was a talented musician was an understatement, and she frowned, listening to him effortlessly lapse into a blues progression.

Her father never really liked him. He wasn't a bad kid, wasn't a criminal, or an addict. She hadn't told her father that Jack had given up a full ride to Berklee to take care of his grandmother and help out his brother, or that he played in a Beatles tribute band almost every night off strip to stay playing when Dirado High School cut back on their music program. She leaned against the edge of the window, remaining in the shadows, watching him, wiping the tears from her eyes. She loved him. She had since she was sixteen. She rarely disagreed with her father, and they almost never argued. But Jack was a good guy, and she had stood her ground when her father told her she was better off without him. She wasn't so sure.

Now, here he was, in front of her house at 6:17 AM, turning the amp up, singing his feelings for her, his apology for the emotional anguish they had both apparently suffered, to the entire street. Vaguely she wondered if the neighbors minded. She didn't really care. The polite thing would be to go downstairs, open the front door, get him to talk to her instead of waking up the whole neighborhood. She didn't care about the neighbors.

She wasn't opening that door until nine thirty.

At least.

Taking another sip of coffee, Nora crossed the room again, leaving the window and sitting back down at the pottery wheel, working the pedal as she dipped her fingers in the slip, and touched the wet clay with a gentle affection. Now, at least, she had background music to work to. She loved him, but desperate wheedling was in order, especially after ten months of silence.

Crank it up, Jack.

Greg Sanders ran a hand through his hair, turning his department-issue Denali onto his street and frowning immediately as he recognized the piece of shit truck parked outside his house, and the piece of shit kid sitting on its roof. He sighed, suddenly glad that he and Sara had been called to different scenes at the beginning of shift. Glad she wasn't sitting beside him, with a huge 'I told you he was a good kid' grin on her face. It wasn't that he didn't trust his daughter to be a good judge of character. It was that this kid broke her heart. Sara could sing his praises all she wanted, but all that came to mind when Greg thought of Jack Cooper was Nora in sweats, red splotchy face, puffy I've-been-crying-for-three-days eyes, and clingy hugs that left him soggy from all the tears that had dripped down her cheeks. No, he thought he had seen the last of Jack Cooper.

Jack watched a black Denali pull into the driveway, silently wishing it was Nora's mom in the driver's seat. Mrs. Sanders liked him. He glanced at the window of the studio room, not surprised to find it empty, before casting his gaze back at the Denali, trying not to cringe as Mr. Sanders climbed out of the driver's side, and made his way up the walk to the front door.

"G'morning, Mr. Sanders." Jack sang a greeting to Nora's father, flashing him his best good guy smile, and returning to the blues riff he had been playing.

"Jack." Greg nodded a hello, frowning openly at the younger man's less than conventional method of apology. He rolled his eyes as he shut the door securely behind him, setting his kit down by the door and hanging up his jacket. He listened to Jack play some song he didn't recognize as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot that Nora had started, silently making his way up the stairs, and coming to lean against the doorjamb of the studio room he and Sara had set up. Nora glanced up from the pottery wheel, and offered him a small smile.

"Hi Daddy." Nora pressed the pedal harder, making the clay spin faster, shifting the shape expertly, frowning at her work.

"Hey Rosie." Greg dropped onto a worn out old armchair, suddenly thankful that he and Sara had stashed it up here when they had replaced it in the living room a few years back. "How long has Charlie Parker been serenading an empty window?" Greg took a long sip of coffee, watching as Nora sighed heavily.

"Dad, Charlie Parker played the saxophone. Jack is a guitarist." He laughed softly as she corrected him, successfully avoiding his question. Maybe a different approach.

"How long you going to let him grovel out there?"

"Couple of hours. I don't know." His heart broke as she let up on the pedal, and sat back dejectedly. She took a sip from her mug, turning to look at the window, and he saw the sparkle of a tear rolling down from the corner of her eye. "I was doing fine with out him, you know? I thought I had moved on." Outside, Jack modulated into a new song, and as he listened to the words being sung to his daughter, Greg fought back the urge to go downstairs and throw that piece of shit kid in the back of the Denali, drive him out to Area 51, tie him to a fence and leave him for dead.

"_We Belong to the light_

_We Belong to the thunder_

_We Belong to the sound of the words_

_We've both fallen under_

_Whatever we deny or embrace_

_For worse or for better_

_We Belong, We Belong_

_We Belong together"_

"Kid doesn't make a half bad Pat Benatar, huh?" Greg relaxed when Nora chuckled softly, wiping her tears with the rolled up sleeve of her sweatshirt.

"Jack could make the 'twinkle, twinkle, little star' sound like Mozart." Nora smiled sadly, and Greg thought better of telling her that the hand she had just ran through her hair left a trail of clay slip tangled in her blonde locks. Or that 'twinkle, twinkle, little star' was Mozart. "Where's Mom?"

"Finishing up some paperwork with Nick. She'll be home soon." Greg stood, sensing that Nora needed to work through what to do with Jack on her own. "Want me to have his car impounded?" He grinned as she rolled her eyes at him.

"Tempting, but no, thank you. If this is his way of apologizing, he's going to be out there for a while. If he makes it to nine thirty, I'll talk to him." Greg nodded, satisfied with Nora's plan. "He's a good guy, Daddy. He just needs to grovel a little more."

"This is like some horrible eighties movie in slow motion."

"You like eighties movies, Dad, who are you kidding." Nora flashed Greg a reassuring smile, before pressing the pedal on the wheel, watching the clay begin to spin steadily again. "I just need to think."

"Think all you want, Nora. I'm going to crash before your mother comes home."

"Long night?"

"They always are." Greg pressed a kiss to Nora's clay-smattered hair, and made his way to the door, and down the hall. "But if that punk starts playing Ozzy Osbourne I'm calling Brass." Nora smiled at her father's halfhearted threat, and glanced toward the window.

"If he starts playing Ozzy I'll call Brass."

Sara arched her eyebrow in amused disbelief, pulling into the driveway at ten minutes of eight in the morning, offering a somewhat friendly wave to her daughter's old boyfriend, trying to not appear as awkward as she felt, having Jack Cooper show up on their curb for a seemingly audience-less performance. But Sara knew that both her husband and her daughter were listening intently to each note Jack played.

She made her way inside their little house, hearing the soft rhythmic thud of the pottery wheel pedal on the second floor. She shed her jacket, placing her kit beside Greg's by the door, kicking off her shoes, and padding her way to the kitchen, reaching up into a cupboard and pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot. She ran a hand through her messy curls, slipping her light sweater off her shoulders and draping it over a stool in the kitchen. She wanted to know what Jack Cooper was doing on their front lawn, but she wanted to hug her husband more.

Greg snuggled into his pillow, listening to Sara move quietly through the kitchen down the hall. With their bedroom being towards the back of the house, the majority of their property muffled the racket pouring out of the amp in the back of Jack's truck. He smiled tiredly as he heard her shuffle into the bedroom, and he rolled over, watching her shed the clothes she had worn to work and replace them with running shorts and his tattered old hoodie.

"Jack should try putting up flyers the next time he has a concert. Might get an audience." Sara smiled faintly at her husband, unclasping her necklace and dropping it in a jewelry box carefully.

"He has all the audience he wanted. Nora's hearing every note." Greg mumbled, reaching out in the general direction of his wife. Sara laughed at his searching fingers, amused at how quickly Greg transitioned from brilliantly tough Las Vegas CSI to half-asleep husband, in dire need of human contact. She slipped into bed, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, and rolled over on top of him. Sara ran a hand through Greg's unruly curls, smiling at the smattering of grey hairs hidden in his natural brown, and the feel of his hands slipping around her waist, under the hoodie. She kissed him soundly, sliding half off him to use his chest to pillow her head as they both dozed off, tired from the grueling shift they had both escaped. Maybe it was best to stay out of the way of the dramatics on the front lawn, let Nora handle it.

Greg had been content to lie there, letting the even movements of Sara's breathing lull him to sleep. She felt him relax under her, and let the even beating of his heart soothe her as she listened to Jack's one-man blues rendition of some Beatles song filter through the house softly.

"_I want you_

_I want you so bad_

_I want you,_

_I want you so bad_

_It's driving me mad, it's driving me mad."_

Sara tightened her grip on Greg's abdomen, hugging him, and smiling as he pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. She didn't fight him when he rolled her over flat on her back, and she shifted instantly to let him slip his arm around her waist, laying his head in the crook of her neck. She sifted her fingers absently through his hair, running her hand along his arm. Outside, Jack continued to play, and Sara listened to him continue after an incredibly moving bridge.

"_I want you_

_I want you so bad_

_I want you,_

_I want you so bad, babe_

_It's driving me mad, it's driving me mad."_

Upstairs, Nora let the pottery wheel slow on it's own accord, curling up on the ratty old armchair, listening to Jack continue to play. His voice had continued on, almost effortlessly, every so often betraying him with a crack, or a hoarse note, but Jack thought it would only show her, prove to her, that he was willing to sacrifice his voice to get her back.

He only hoped Mr. Sanders still refused to carry a gun.

His brilliant plan, to sing Nora Sanders back into his life, had seemed to begin to fail. Maybe it had been doomed from the start. Jack wrapped up the cadenza of the Beatles piece, and leaned over, turning the amp all the way up.

This was his last chance.

Jack Cooper sighed at the still house across the lawn, and frowned at the window he knew Nora was near. He had one last song to try before he resigned to being miserable without her.

"_I close my eyes and see tomorrow_

_My dreams begin and end with you_

_I hear you say you'll be there_

_Always for me there_

_I must believe it's true"_

This was his prayer, his mantra at the close of the evenings when the sun was starting to creep up on the city, when he'd lost a sense of time in the key of B flat, when finally, everything began to become a reality once again. When the lights came back on, and he remembered that she had stopped listening a long time ago.

"_I found my way even in the dark_

_Though at times it seem too far_

_I knew if I'd listened to my heart_

_I'd find that love is where you are"_

It was her seemingly unnatural love of country music that had brought him closer to this particular tune. He had learned it, and had sung it for her as a surprise, for her birthday. They had been happy then, and his rendition had reflected their happiness. Now, however, Jack sounded weary, miserable, and it was the mournful taste the melody left in her mouth that brought her to her feet, and silently, Nora made her way out of the studio room, and down the stairs. Enough was enough.

"_Love is where you are_

_And anywhere you are_

_It's where I want to be_

_No matter what may happen_

_No matter where I go_

_Your arms are home to me"_

She ignored the tears in her eyes, the grief in his voice breaking her heart all over again. She listened, leaning against the inside of the front door, as he slowed the last few notes, lingering on the melody for a few more seconds.

Then there was nothing.

Jack had stopped playing.

Outside, Jack brushed a tear away from the corner of his eye, taking one last look at the silent house before he slid from his perch on top of his truck to the back, crouching to unplug the amp and safely stow away his guitar. He didn't notice Nora open the front door right away, placing the guitar case in the passenger seat and pulling his worn, faded baseball hat over his hair, preventing the moisture of his tears from sparkling in the Nevada sun. They could have been happy, they could have made it work, they could have tried. Her gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.

"My father wanted to have your car impounded." Nora leaned against the support post of the front porch, her features already taken on that steely unreadable expression Jack remembered her mother giving her father on one or two occasions.

"Obviously you talked him out of it. Thank you." Jack shut the passenger's side door, and leaned the bulk of his weight against the side of his truck, leaving the space of the lawn between them.

"What are you doing here, Jack? Did you think I'd just take you back, like I loved you all along?" He winced at her sharp words, but the crack in her somewhat steady voice reassured him that being John Cusack might have had a chance after all.

"I was scared, Nor. I kept thinking that you'd go to Chicago, and you'd forget about me, about us, about this town. That you'd never come back."

"I told you I was coming home in May. I came home in May. You didn't trust me." Nora took a few steps forward, sitting on the front stoop of the house. "I don't know what you want me to do, Jack. I'm out of things to say."

There was a long pause, and neither Jack nor Nora made any motion to move or speak for several moments. Nora watched her first love as he inspected the stone curb on the edge of her yard, shoving his hands in the pockets of his worn out jeans, his darkened tan a telltale sign that the roofing business had been going well, contrasting sharply with the white tee shirt he wore.

"Say you'll have me back." His plea was soft, quiet, but against the still neighborhood, she heard him in perfect clarity. "Say we can try again."

"It's not that simple, Jack. This isn't a movie."

"Do you love me?" The bluntness of his words hit her hard, and she bit her lip to prevent herself from automatically answering yes. Yes she did love him. She'd always love him. She ran a hand through her hair, blinking away the errant tears that blurred her vision.

"You can't ask me that." She was stalling, and he knew it. He tried again.

"It's a simple question, Nora, yes or no. Do you love me?" The distance between them hadn't been this marginal since he had pushed her out of his life, and now that he could see the rise of her chest as she breathed, the subtle water marks along her cheeks, the traces of clay in her hair and on her hands, all he wanted to do was close the distance and pull her against him, dry her eyes on his shirt, breath in the faint scent of acrylic paint and canvas and clay and laundry detergent, and all those little things he associated with her. He watched her brush away another tear, and nod her head only just.

"I can't do this." She stood, turning back towards the door, and Jack Cooper stopped thinking. He sprinted the length of the front yard, and caught her arm as she started to climb the steps.

"Nora, wait." She made no motion to pull away from his gentle touch, but she made no motion to reciprocate it. "It was stupid. I was stupid. I panicked last fall. I only wanted you to be happy." His voice wavered with the uneven weight of his jarred emotions, and she yanked her arm away, turning curtly to face him, looking down at him from the top of the porch steps.

"How did you know I wasn't happy before? That I wasn't ready to make it work, to try? What part of 'I love you' means 'I'm not happy'?" She took a step toward him again, bringing her eye to eye with him. She reached up, and gently tugged his baseball hat off his head by the brim in a practiced fashion that would have made him smile had she not been so upset. She dropped the hat to the ground, and ran her fingers affectionately through his shortened brown hair, making his blonde undertones shine in the early Nevada sunshine. Jack closed his eyes, trying to remain composed, as he leaned into her touch against his cheek, relaxing when he heard the faintest of smiles in her voice.

"What did you do to your hair, Jack?" Nora grinned softly, unwilling to continue being furious with him any longer. They had a long way to go, but she loved him too much to turn him away. He returned her smile cautiously, wrapping an arm around her figure, and pulling her into a hug. Maybe everything would be okay, after all.

"I'm sorry." His apology came mumbled against her shoulder, and she dropped a leisurely kiss to his hair, accepting it. She tightened her grip around his shoulders, running a soothing hand a ways down his back. Nora let out a shaky breath, feeling him pull her closer, holding her tighter. She had thought she would never need this, would never want this, but now, standing on her porch steps, she realized that she could stand her ground all she wanted, yell at him until her voice went hoarse, walk back into the house and slam the door in his face, but none of that would change the ache in her chest where her heart had split.

She placed a hand to his jaw, pulling him closer, and catching him in a deliberate kiss. He caught her, like he always had, lifting her off the step only just. He tasted like coffee and worry and the kind of salt that only came in tears. She broke away, and he set her down, opening his mouth to suggest taking a ride to talk things out. He hadn't expected her to slap him straight across the face, but he reckoned he deserved it. He winced, and she rubbed her hand, her expression caught between hurt and affection.

"Next time I'll let my father hit you." There was an element of amusement in her threat, and he smiled.

"There won't be a next time." He moved to kiss her again, already lapsing back into an addiction he thought he had cured.

"We can make it work." She mumbled against his lips, and he grinned, pulling away to push a wisp of hair away from her face, and drop a kiss to her forehead affectionately.

"We have to, I'm going out of my mind."

Inside, Greg woke as Sara shifted under him, listening for music and hearing only silence. He pushed off her, ignoring her unhappy groan as he pushed back the blankets and climbed out of bed.

"Greg." She whined, a plea for him to come back to bed, but he ignored it, stumbling through their darkened bedroom to the doorway, still listening for Jack's singing, still hearing nothing.

"The music stopped."

"Gregory, come back to bed, leave her alone." Sara sat up, half-asleep, and frowned at her husband, who had disappeared down the hallway. Sighing heavily, she followed, intent on dragging him back into the covers, and not letting him interrupt whatever Nora and Jack were talking through. She caught up with him at the doorway of the kitchen that lead to the living room, hanging back but peering through the front windows at the two figures on the front steps. Sara tangled her fingers in his, pulling gently, but he let go, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, as they watched their daughter slap Jack Cooper across the face.

"Now that piece of shit kid can get off my yard." Greg pressed an affectionate kiss to Sara's cheek, and started back down the hall to their bedroom. Sara lingered a few more seconds, watching as Jack Cooper kissed her daughter. She rolled her eyes at Greg, and smiled.

"Yes, dear." She padded back down the hall, and climbed back into bed, curling up to his side, and relaxing against him, listening to his even breathing. She was pleased they were going to be seeing a lot more of Jack Cooper. She had always said that he was a good kid.

………

A/N: Songs in italics are Bill Withers' "Ain't No Sunshine," Pat Benatar's "We Belong," The Beatles' "I Wat You (She's So Heavy)," and Diana Krall's "Love is Where You Are." …So this one turned into a monster… sorry it took me over a month to come up with it. I have everything planned out. It's just a matter of finding the right words. I wanted to expand a bit more on Nora, and I've been subconsciously developing Jack in my head. After I wrote out this one, I planned a dozen+ outtakes to the series, so eventually there will be a few outtakes that explain the nature of their relationship and the circumstances of their falling out. Anyways. I ramble. I haven't forgotten about any of my other stuff, another chapter of 'Transitions' and 'The Secondhand Brick' are on their way, they just aren't how I want them yet. :grins foolishly, apologies a thousand times over:


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